


capelvenere

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, F/M, Just lots of sex really, Semi-Public Sex, and sprinkle of fake mythology, italian adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26683864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “Oh, you don’t know?” now the man’s face dims in consternation, “The dish includes a famous local herb.”“Basil?” Hannibal cannot help but interject, the unforeseen shift in what he certainly predicted to be a simple exchange making him visibly unsettled.“No,” the man smiles anew, oblivious to Hannibal’s abrupt tone, “This herb is very special, known for his amorous properties.”“An aphrodisiac, you mean,” Hannibal enunciates the word with barely concealed disdain while Bedelia tries her best to retain her serious composure.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	capelvenere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/gifts).



It is a picture-perfect view, ideal for a front page article about Italy’s hidden treasures. But unlike most of these places, this one has truly managed to escape the rush of tourists. The small village materialised as though out of thin air, the luscious green hills of the coastal route giving way to a cluster of buildings, packed so closely as though embedded into the mountain. It was a fortunate coincidence as Bedelia was beginning to feel peckish which of course meant it was no coincidence at all. Hannibal’s planning of every aspect of their excursions has never failed to delight her in its meticulousness.

Their car enters the village, one central street sliding into the natural curve of the hillside, lined with copper coloured houses, including splashes of brighter tints here and there, reminiscent of the more famous coastal locations. Hannibal slows down as a small, orange building comes into view; if the tables set outside were not indicative enough, the appetising aroma of freshly roasted garlic makes the nature of the establishment abundantly clear.

“I thought we could stop for some nourishment,” Hannibal announces as the car comes to a stop in front of the restaurant, staying one step ahead of her needs, as per usual.

The corner of Bedelia’s lips curls in appreciation; the notion of Hannibal appointing his hunter skills for romantic purposes is strangely endearing. She steps out of the car, her muscles enjoying the stretch after hours of confinement. The fresh breeze cools her skin and she inhales deeply, taking in the notes of the air; they are quite away from the sea, but she can still discern the saltiness. When she looks at Hannibal, she finds him staring at her with an enraptured smile; he adores seeing her allowing her senses to blossom and taking pleasure in her discoveries.

Stopping by the first place they encountered might appear random, but Bedelia knows Hannibal leaves nothing to chance. Especially when it comes to matters of dining.

“This place is rather famous for their _trofie al pesto_ ,” he states, confirming her thoughts. She knew their trip would not be complete without Hannibal making sure that they try the region’s speciality dish.

Her lips retain its amused twist as he leads them towards the entrance, eagerness of having yet another chance to impress her shining through his eyes. The ornamented wooden door opens with a soft creak and they enter the stilted space of the restaurant. They must the first guests of the afternoon, Bedelia gathers as her eyes survey the empty interior. Or perhaps, it has been purposely arranged. She smiles anew and finishes her appraisal. The plain stone walls surround numerous wooden tables, polished to the highest shine. The décor amplifies the sensation of simplicity, only few artworks adorning the space, all paintings displaying the beauty of the neighbouring landscape. The restaurant seems almost basic, comparing to Hannibal’s usual choices. The food must be incredibly special, indeed.

“ _Buongiorno_. Welcome,” a short man with a round stature appears as if from nowhere and greets them with a wide grin. Hannibal responds with a courteous nod. “I hope you had no trouble finding us,” he carries on, his accent as heavy as his physique, and gestures towards the middle of the room.

“No, no trouble at all,” Hannibal responds as they follow the man’s lead.

“I am delighted to have you in my restaurant,” the man stops and waves his hand anew with an added flourish. Bedelia’s eyes follow the gesture and fall on a singular table in the middle of the floor, fully set up with freshly pressed white tablecloth, empty plates, and glasses, awaiting its occupants. She smiles, her previous suspicions confirmed.

Hannibal pulls the chair out for her and she takes her seat with a nod of thank you.

“I hope our menu will be to your liking,” the owner carries on as Hannibal takes the other seat, “Our _carpaccio di polpo_ is really excellent today,” he begins his well-practiced listing of daily specials.

“I have heard you prepare an exquisite _trofie al pesto_ ,” Hannibal offers an unexpected praise, addressing the man as almost his equal.

_Almost._

Bedelia raises an eyebrow and suppresses a grin; culinary complements are not something that Hannibal Lecter renders lightly, especially when yet unconfirmed by his own particular taste.

“Ah yes, the _trofie al pesto_ ,” the man’s face lights up at the mention of their speciality, his cheeks pink with excitement as he rubs his hands together. His appearance and manner are so stereotypically Italian it borders on cliché. The only thing missing to complete the picture is a moustache; Bedelia is certain he had one at a certain point in his life.

Hannibal seems oblivious to the banality of the image, responding with an encouraging smile; having pride in one’s dish is something that he is more than familiar with.

“We have a lot of guests travelling from far just to try it,” the proprietor pronounces, no false modesty.

Hannibal’s smile is now directed at Bedelia, pleased with a choice worthy their time.

“A lot of couples, obviously,” the man continues, “Not that I think you and your wife need it.”

The smile fades.

“Need what?” Hannibal asks, his tone sharpening instantly.

“Why the special ingredient, of course,” the man exclaims with an almost theatrical flair.

Hannibal’s lips press into a thin line of growing confusion; he gives no response.

“And what special ingredient would that be?” Bedelia asks instead, visible amused by the change in Hannibal’s demeanour.

“Oh, you don’t know?” now the man’s face dims in consternation, “The dish includes a famous local herb.”

“Basil?” Hannibal cannot help but interject, the unforeseen shift in what he certainly predicted to be a simple exchange making him visibly unsettled.

“No,” the man smiles anew, oblivious to Hannibal’s abrupt tone, “This herb is _very special_ , known for his amorous properties.”

“An _aphrodisiac_ , you mean,” Hannibal enunciates the word with barely concealed disdain while Bedelia tries her best to retain her serious composure.

“Precisely! It has proven to be highly effective. That is why we have so many people travelling here just to sample it,” the man’s verve returns and so does the colour in his cheek. “Its story goes back to the ancient times,” he leans forward for dramatic effect as though divulging a closely kept secret, “A young woman, very much in love with her husband, was distressed when his interest in her vanished. Physical interest, that is,” he pauses and winks. Bedelia notices the first speck of red in Hannibal’s eyes.

“She decided to seek help of the goddess of love herself, Venus, praying and giving offerings in her name every evening. We do not know why the goddess chose to answer; the gods were always capricious and unpredictable in their ways. But she did answer, appearing in front of the woman, and offering a solution to her problem. She plucked few strands of her own hair and gave them to the woman with an instruction to add it to her husband’s supper. But the gift came with a warning; she was not to share the secret with others,” the man pauses anew, allowing for the story to settle. His storytelling skills are rather impressive, undoubtedly honed by years of practice, Bedelia concludes with cautious side glance at Hannibal. The red in his eyes persists, but he remains otherwise composed.

“The woman took the hair and did as told, putting a strand into the stew that very evening. The hair instantly turned to leaf. She served the food to her husband and what followed was a night of passion,” his eyes twinkle anew. The corner of Hannibal’s mouth twitches with apparent irritation.

“But, as you can imagine, the woman did not keep her promise,” the man’s tone becomes sombre as the story reaches its anticipated tragic moment, “The magic of the hair was too strong for her to forsake once she used it all. So, she buried the remaining strands in hope it would turn into a shrub just like it did in the stew. And it did,” another dramatic pause ensues, “The plant began to grow and soon the woman was not the only one enjoying its magic but sharing it with all her neighbours as well. For a profit, of course. The news of great lust among humans reached the ears of Venus and she knew right away that her will was disobeyed. She punished the woman by turning her into a slug, forever feasting on the leaves of the plant she helped create but no longer able to enjoy its benefits. But the goddess could not stop the growth of the plant itself. It has been growing here ever since, now only a small patch reserved for a special use. They had called it Venus’ hair.”

The man clasps his hands together to mark the end of his tale, visibly pleased with his own story.

“Venus’ hair,” Hannibal speaks at last, “ _Capelvenere_ is a well-known fern, found in many gardens.” Bedelia expects him to deliver a full lecture on the foliage of Italian gardens, but he does not, undoubtedly, finding the man too inferior to share his knowledge with. His eyes no longer hide the contempt for the obvious ignorance.

“The name has been adapted by others,” the man is not discouraged by the evident flaw in his tale, “But this is where the original plant exists. And it is more than just a weed. It has helped people find fire in their romance for a long time. All thanks to one faithful worshipper of the goddess.”

He beams with fresh vigour, but luckily, no wink follows this time around.

“Perhaps it was the wife’s excessive religious devotion that drawn the husband away in the first place,” Bedelia reasons, the amusement sharpening her mind and her tongue in turn.

Hannibal remains unimpressed, to say the least. Bedelia can see the remaining pieces of his composure hanging on their last stitches; what was meant to serve as another impressive display of his faultless taste turned into an accidental farce.

“Perhaps it was,” the proprietor beams at Bedelia, delighted with her comment and clearly earmarking it for use in future retellings, “Your wife is not only beautiful, but also brilliant.”

The pang of jealousy makes the last seam rip open and Hannibal’s features turn tense and focused, a tiger preparing to advance. As much as she enjoys observing him in his natural state, she would rather not spend the rest of her day waiting for Hannibal to clean the traces of his handiwork. Absentmindedly, she reaches her hand out and places it on top of his with gentle pressure. The unexpected gesture brings out an instant startle in his eyes, the tide of red receding. She can feel his rigid muscles relaxing under her touch, it makes her pulse quicken in turn.

“Ah I knew you did not need anything to keep the spark alive,” the owner bursts with delight at the perceived expression of affection.

The hand beneath hers tenses ever so slightly; the man’s life might be intact for now, but Hannibal is clearly deliberating whether the sensational meal is worth their time.

“We look forward to trying it, anyway,” Bedelia makes the decision for him, squeezing his hand one last time in silent reassurance.

The gesture once again visibly rearranges Hannibal’s thoughts, his gaze softening further. He tilts his head in polite concurrence and chooses an appropriate wine pairing.

The jovial face beams at them one last time before the man nods his goodbye and walks away towards the kitchen, humming with apparent good humour.

“I was not informed the dish came with a _disclaimer_ ,” Hannibal notes sharply as the man disappears from their line of vision. The shadow of the red hue in his eyes indicates that his anger has not vanished altogether but might resurface at whoever was unfortunate enough to make this recommendation.

Bedelia cannot help but smile; Hannibal’s outrage is more amusing than the story that caused it.

“A bit of flair helps the business, no doubt,” she responds calmly, “I am sure it does not affect the quality of the food.”

“Let’s hope so,” his tone retains its sharpness, but his gaze is soft still as he relishes in her approval.

Their food arrives in no time, luckily delivered by a young waiter with an eager smile and not the owner, the appealing aroma of basil and pine nuts surrounding the steaming swirls of freshly rolled pasta.

“ _Grazie_ ,” Hannibal responds courteously as the plates are placed in front of them, yet his gaze surveys the food with throughout suspiciousness.

Bedelia suppresses a chuckle.

“It is just pasta, Hannibal,” she says with merriment while she takes her fork, “Besides, any mystical hair would turn to leaf anyway,” she motions to the green dressing, recalling the most amusing part of the story. But her hand remains hovering over the plate. Hannibal mirrors her gesture, a silent waiting game to see who will give in first.

_This is foolish_ , Bedelia tells herself and finally sinks her fork into the pasta. Hannibal watches intensely as she takes the first bite as if expecting something out of the ordinary to occur, almost despite himself.

But of course, nothing happens.

“Hmm,” Bedelia licks her lips in appreciation, “This is delectable.”

Hannibal breaks out of his daze and proceeds to sample the dish himself. She can tell by the slow press of his mouth and the flicker of his tongue that the standard has proven to be adequate.

“I believe the magical herb is nothing more than spinach,” he comments, wanting to bring an end to the thorn of nonsense still pressing at his mind and proving the superiority of his palette in a process.

“Fortunately, it is not fern,” Bedelia remarks in continuous amusement, lifting her glass up.

Hannibal frowns but the crease vanishes in an instant, replaced by an adoring smile. Her good spirits more than make up for the earlier mishap as far as he is concerned.

By the time the remaining streaks of pesto are wiped away with a piece of bread, Hannibal’s mood improves as well, the exceptional food serving its purpose in placating his hunter’s impulses.

“Was everything to your liking?” the proprietor makes an appearance just as the last drops of the post meal’s espresso linger on their tongues.

“Yes, it was excellent,” Hannibal responds and even offers the man an appreciative smile. Bedelia raises a questioning brow; she did not expect such praise, but the quality of the dish seems to have overcome Hannibal’s displeasure with the fantastic tale.

“It was wonderful, thank you,” she concurs herself, making Hannibal’s smile widen, her pleasure once again being more important than his.

“I am so happy to hear that,” the man exclaims with what Bedelia recognises now as his habitual enthusiasm, his gleaming eyes moving from her to Hannibal with some unknown anticipation.

_Does he genuinely believe his own story?_

Putting her coffee cup down, Bedelia concludes it is best they leave soon, before the owner decides to continue the narration and become an epilogue of his own tale.

She lets Hannibal settle the bill, with an insistence to leave a tip for the entertainment, no matter how unbidden it was, and makes her way outside. The gentle breeze caresses her skin anew, scents of fresh foliage swirling in her nostrils, and she relishes the sensation. She follows the direction of the aromas and walks behind the restaurant, finding a surprisingly large garden, tucked in between the building and the rising hill beneath it. She watches the bushes sway gently, as if they were whispering to each other; she wonders if the “mythical” plant is among them. The sudden gush of wind draws the rustling out louder, making them sound almost excited.

An arm slips around her waist as she reproves her impressionable mind.

“Is everything all right?” she asks as Hannibal pulls her closer.

“Yes, of course,” he responds, and she can feel him inhaling deeply, her own scent proving more tempting than any Mediterranean aromas.

“Is _everyone_ all right?” she presses on, turning in his embrace to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” he reassures with a smile, eyes shining ever so innocently.

Her own eyes narrow, ready to detect any untruth, but finds nothing to be concerned about. For once, the story has a happy ending for all.

His hand still on her waist, he guides her towards the front of the building and their car, polished shine of the convertible calling like a beacon in its readiness to re-embark on the journey. Hannibal holds the door open for Bedelia and then takes the driver’s side.

The whole scene is observed by the restaurant’s owner, glancing at his departing guests through the window, his smile wider than ever, his eyes tinged with mischief. Luckily for him, neither of them notices.

Soon, they are on the road again, leaving the village and all its myths behind. Bedelia closes her eyes, the wind caressing her face, feeling contended. Despite the precarious moments of their meal, she has enjoyed herself and the nourishment. Opening her eyes, she glances at Hannibal and finds him similarly composed; his features are relaxed, the previous strain long gone. Sensing her stare, he turns his head to smile at her, a gesture making his face appear softer still.

Bedelia smiles back, pleased with seeing him at such ease. The softness does not make him any less handsome, quite the contrary, she reasons as her eyes peruse the defined lines of his cheeks and jaw, highlighted by the effects of the Italian sun. His hair is tousled by the wind, adding to the image of careless allure. Bedelia exhales slowly, feeling a sudden advance of heat beneath her skin, growing despite the constant presence of cooling breeze. Her gaze now falls on his arms, clad in white shirt, sleeves rolled up just beneath his elbows, hands resting on the steering wheel with practiced purposefulness. His forearms are equally tanned, muscles at ease, but she knows it does not take much to awaken them. She reaches her hand out to test her musings, fingers gently grazing his skin; she feels the welcomed strain of muscles beneath her touch. His eyes on the road, Hannibal smiles widely nonetheless, treasuring any caress on her part.

Her fingers continue their contemplation and so does her mind as she carries on appraising his good looks; she has always found him extremely attractive, from the moment they met, even if she refused to admit it at first, even to herself. Her hand shifts, fingertips taking note of each muscle beneath the cotton fabric as they progress, finally resting on his shoulder, then moves up to brush the dishevelled locks away from his forehead. It is a needless gesture as the wind continues to disarrange them, but she takes pleasure in stroking his hair, admiring the silver strands settling in the back.

_Pleasure._

The heat increases and she can no longer blame it on the sun, feeling it coiling in her core instead. It is not like her to be subjective to her urges, Bedelia presses her legs together tighter, hoping to alleviate the unprompted sensation. But it does nothing, only accentuates her need; she continues to watch Hannibal, licking her lips in absentminded craving.

It is a delectation she had denied herself for years. And why again? Whatever reasonings seemed vital to her at the time, now appear foolish and with little merit; Bedelia pushes the thoughts away impatiently. She slowly grows more desperate in her want; her skin tingles with silent need and she is certain Hannibal can easily discern the strong scent of her arousal.

_This is the last place she should be thinking about this._

Her mind tries to reason with her body one last time as the car nears another sharp hillside turn but it is for nought: nothing but a pebble in the incessant flood of her desire.

_She has so much lost time to make up, after all._

She undoes her seatbelt and shifts closer to Hannibal’s seat. Her lips press against his skin and mark their way towards his neck where her teeth graze the delicate underside of his jaw. She can hear him inhaling sharply with brimming rapture, making her smile against his skin. She has always loved how responsive he is to pleasure and luxuriates in discovering all his sensitive spots as much he loves exploring hers. The hand moves to cradle his cheek as she continues to kiss his neck with fervour. She expects him to stop her any moment now, so she savours as much of him as possible. But he does not pull away. She feels a groan resonating in the back of his throat, one of reprimand no doubt, but the sound that slips past his lips is anything but that.

“ _Do not stop_.”

She barely recognises the nature of his voice, his usual collected tone giving way to a primal growl. But she does not pause to consider any of it; her lips advance up his cheek, pressing awkwardly against the corner of his mouth, trying to find their desired purchase upon his lips. Her hand travels down his chest and reaches between his legs, finding him as aroused as her, the hard outline of his erection pressing against the fabric of his trousers. He growls again as she strokes him, an animal in full heat. The car turns abruptly and Bedelia thinks that is the end of them.

_What an unbecoming way to die._

The notion sweeps through her mind, yet it does not slow her advances. But no other startling movements occur, instead the car comes to a stop, the sudden shift being Hannibal pulling into the nearest side road. He removes his own seatbelt in one quick motion and encircles her waist with a firm grip, pulling her onto his lap. They both groan as their lips meet at long last and hands are free to explore without restrains. Bedelia kisses him as if she had not kissed him for years, moving her lips hungrily against his, starved for his taste with the intensity she has never felt for anyone else before. Hannibal responds with the same fervour, every other deep kiss punctuated by another groan on his part. Bedelia’s hands push against his chest and she sinks her fingers in between the buttons of his shirt, popping them open without care, searching for the much-sought feel of his body beneath hers. Hannibal lessens the grip of one of his hands on her hips, broad strokes of palm guiding his way down her thigh, pulling the edge of her dress away and circling into her inner leg. Fingertips rouse the sensitive skin while he moves his hand up, making her body quiver. She pushes her hips down with most impatience and he responds by letting his fingers trail over the wet fabric of her underwear. Bedelia bites down on his lower lip, stifling a moan of half frustration and half incitement. Hannibal growls anew, in adoration of her ferocity, the fingers now pushing the lace aside and diving within her folds, stroking and pressing with intent, making her mouth abandon his in a loud gasp of approval. But his caresses merely fuel her craving; it is still not enough to satisfy it fully. Her hands trail down his torso, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers with swiftness, desperate yearning manifested in every gesture. Hannibal moves his fingers away as she grasps the length of him and lowers herself down onto him. Her toes curl as she takes him in, the union she was hungry for all along. Hannibal grasps her hips with fresh force while she presses them down and forward, delicious friction sending shudders of pleasure through her body, all the way to the tips of her fingers, fizzing with sparks of electricity. Her hands find support against his shoulders and her back arches as she quickens her pace, eager to find her fulfilment. She looks down at Hannibal and finds him completely undone, the veil of his of composure teared to pieces, his true visage staring back at her in all its untamed ravenousness.

Isn’t it what he has always wanted, for both of them?

His wild gaze expresses utter devotion; he pushes his hips up, knowing exactly which spot demands the most attention. Bedelia presses herself down in response, moaning loudly as her legs begin to shake. She advances harder still, finding her route to satisfaction and Hannibal is more than happy to serve as her means. She cries out loudly as the pleasure reaches its peak, rippling through her body, the fulfilment as tremendous as the yearning that proceeded it. Hannibal follows closely behind, his body tensing as he reaches his own release. The pleasure continues to swirl within her body as they both strive to regain their breaths.

The dispersing of haze brings a moment of clarity to Bedelia’s thoughts and she questions if they have been here minutes or hours, and if any passing vehicles have been witnesses to their indiscretion. But even this realization does not strike any alarm within her mind; she looks down at Hannibal, his lips parted and gasping for air, and smiles with gratification. He responds in same, delight reflected on his face, then tilts his head and puts a finishing note on their moment of abandonment with one last kiss.

Pressing her hands against his torso, Bedelia disentangles herself from Hannibal’s embrace and moves back to her seat. She looks down to appraise the state of her dress and readjust its fit, making sure no remnants of their passionate embrace give her away. But she cannot say the same about the rest of her appearance; she glances into the overhead mirror and finds her face flushed and her eyes still overly glossy with satisfaction. The engine awakens anew as Hannibal directs the car back on its route and Bedelia reaches for the seatbelt without further consideration to her post amorous look. The breeze returns to her skin, evoking a smile on her lips, a cherry on top of the pink blush of her complexion. One glance at Hannibal tells her that he is equally content, his eyes gleaming merrily, his thumb tapping against the steering wheel ever so often; he appears satiated in a way that no food could provide, no matter how exquisite. It is not like Hannibal to find nourishment in another person; even if he finds this fresh notion disconcerting, he does not show it.

They continue their journey in silence, relishing their repose. None of them questions the sudden nature of their encounter.

Another winding turn of the road and their destination comes into view, a picturesque line of coloured houses lining the shore of a bay. They were close after all, Bedelia reflects, but it does not make her reprove the initiation of their urgent stopover. Hannibal steers the car into the village, finding his way along the unknown streets with remarkable ease. Soon, they pull up at the entrance to the hotel, its white and pink façade punctuated by navy shutters. The hotel attendants rush to their side just as Hannibal turns the ignition off. The car doors are swiftly open and Bedelia nods a silent thank you as she exits the car. The man, or rather boy, smiles back at her, giving her a somehow lascivious stare. Bedelia would normally waste no time in addressing this inappropriate reaction, especially considering his young age, but now she barely registers the man’s continued presence. And, fortunately for him, Hannibal seems equally disinterested; he appears by Bedelia’s side in an instant but only to escort her towards the entrance, the attendants tipped and forgotten. His arm slips around her waist as he leads her through the door, a gesture she would question before but now it is more than welcomed. The absence of his touch was too unbearable during the last part of their ride, no matter how short.

“ _Buongiorno_ , welcome to Grand Hotel,” a woman behind the reception desk appears as soon as they enter, exuding an aura of utter professionalism, from the tip of her neatly trimmed nails to the top of her tightly pulled back hair.

“We have a reservation,” Hannibal states, “Fell, Mr. and Mrs.”

His arm abandons Bedelia’s waist as he takes a step forward and presents their passports. The woman nods and checks the screen on her desk, swift sound of typing follows.

“We are happy to have many couples choose our hotel for their honeymoon,” she comments with a knowing spark in her eyes, perceiving the blush on their faces as a glow of newly sworn love.

Neither of them corrects her assumption, it helps their cover, after all. But she is not wrong either.

“Suite del Castello,” the woman confirms their reservation with a brilliant smile, “Excellent choice, a lot of newlyweds love to enjoy the privacy of the terrace. And you get a majestic view of the whole village,” she recites her script with ease, but the admiration for the “newlyweds” appears to be genuine.

“That sounds marvellous,” Bedelia acknowledges, sensing Hannibal’s arm returning to encircle her waist, the hand moving dangerously close to her behind. Again, she does not mind, leaning into his touch.

“Your bags have already been brought up to the room,” the woman continues, “And Luciano will escort you there now.” She holds out a card key and it is immediately taken by a hand appearing as if out of nowhere, another man in the hotel uniform materialising next to them.

“Thank you so much, Elena,” Hannibal responds, taking courteous note of the woman’s nametag.

She smiles anew, appreciating the good manners. She would blush at having been addressed by such an attractive man if he were not so attentive to his wife, preventing any illusion.

Bedelia offers a nod of similar regard and they both follow Luciano leading the way towards the elevators. The lustrous doors open at once and the man extends his arm in a wordless invitation. The way up appears to last an eternity in Bedelia’s mind, the constant feel of Hannibal’s hand on her side, burning through the fabric of her dress with insistent heat, stirring her want anew, while the stoic presence of another person preventing her from acting upon the desire in any way. Finally, they reach the right floor and the door slides open with silent efficiency.

“There is no need to accompany us all the way,” Hannibal says unexpectedly as the man steps towards the open door. He takes the key card out of his hand and replaces it with a twenty Euro note; they both exit the elevator.

The last thing they see before the door closes behind them is the startled face of the attendant, taken by surprise either by their sudden departure or the generous tip.

Bedelia turns her head to survey the hallway leading to their suite but barely has a chance to catch a glimpse of the stone floor; as the door shuts, she finds herself backed up against the nearest wall. Her lips part, ready to deliver the usual objections but what comes out instead is a sigh of approval. Hannibal’s parted mouth meets hers in another fervent kiss, hands reaching down to grab hers and bring them over her head while he continues to kiss her with abandon. Bedelia’s moans vibrate against his mouth, her legs becoming weak once more; she anchors herself in his firm grip, the only thing keeping her standing tall. His lips trail down her neck, tongue lapping at her pulse, teeth sinking down with measured intensity. Arousal pools in her underbelly, stronger than before; she grows wetter with his every touch. The hands release their hold on hers and rest on her shoulders, deft fingers pulling the straps of her dress and brassiere down with decisiveness. Bedelia sighs as her breasts are laid bare, awareness of the semi-public setting making her feel even more exposed than she is. With a growl of voracity, Hannibal’s mouth wraps around her mound, sucking and licking, teeth nipping at the underside of the breast, then pulling at her nipple. Bedelia pushes her chest forward, demanding more with another insistent moan, her legs barely keeping her upright. Hannibal obeys instantly, his mouth moving to her other breast while his fingers continue to tweak the first one, not wanting to deprive neither of them of the attention. Bedelia’s legs sway and she presses her back further against the wall for support. The insatiable mouth releases her breast with a loud pop and Hannibal looks at her, revelling in her abandonment. His hands lead the way, sliding down the sides of her waist while he kneels in front of her.

“ _Hannibal_ ,” she delights in the sound of his name on her lips. And there is more delight to come.

He moves the hem of her dress up until the bulk of it sits in the small of her back, then prods her legs apart. His usual unhurried advances are forgotten as he reaches straight for her hips, thumbs fastening under the edges of her underwear. He pulls the lace down and her legs falter anew. Fingers stroke the back of her thighs as he waits for her to regain her balance, then makes her lift one foot, then another, discarding the tiresome fabric on the floor. She is surprised he has not simply torn it off; less trouble as far as she and her want are concerned.

But she does not need to wait any longer; eager mouth presses against her folds, tongue lapping at her heat, nose nudging her clit. His unceasing luscious sucks echo against the walls of the empty corridor, soon accompanied by her own moans, a duet of pleasure. Few more broad strokes of his tongue and he pushes her over the edge once more. Her thighs clamp around his head as her legs tremble but he does not mind, fingers digging into her hips as he holds her steady and pulls her closer, greedy mouth continuing to devour her. The face that finally emerges from in between her legs is red and feral, having consumed a feast worthy of his appetite.

The tremble persists while Hannibal stands up with remarkable swiftness, wrapping his arms around her hips and lifting her up. Bedelia’s legs encircle his back with an instantaneous surge of vigour; she has never known her body could possess such stamina.

It is _exhilarating_.

She briefly wonders about the fate of her abandoned underwear, but it does not seem relevant anymore. Hannibal walks the few steps remaining to the door of the suite. His grip lessens slightly as one of his hands fumbles trying to insert the key card into the door, but the other arm holds her firmly, not that Bedelia is worried, further impairing his awareness by her incessant kisses. She is impressed he has managed to locate the key in the first place. An electric beep indicates the lock finally being open and they both stumble into the unknown space, luckily finding no obstacles on their way in. The door closes behind them and Bedelia finds herself instantly presses against its surface. She has no doubt that she will now come to associate walls with sexual gratification. And they are far from having accomplished theirs; Bedelia reaches down and manages to undo his belt and zipper, his cock leaping to her touch with the same avidity as before. But there is no need to guide him, Hannibal pushes into her without preamble. She moans in approval and he presses deeper. The door shakes loudly with his every thrust, the vibrations rushing down Bedelia’s spine. Her fingers dig into his back, urging him on, and he moves harder. Her thighs clutch firmer as their bodies near yet another crescendo. The force of their climax sends them both to the floor, muscles quivering and struggling for breath.

“Perhaps we should inspect the bedroom,” Hannibal says after a moment, his voice unexpectedly steady, the usual coolness and practicality of his tone being in stark contrast to the primal lust in his eyes.

Bedelia cannot help but laugh, of all that has occurred this striking her as most out of place.

“Yes, I think we should,” she responds and gasps with delight as Hannibal takes her in his arms and walks towards the perceived direction of the bedroom.

She knows their evening is far from over.

The sunrays stretch long across her skin like gentle fingers, pleasant warmth bringing her out of her dreams. Bedelia sighs as the light reaches her face, the brightness cutting through the darkness of her sleep. She slowly opens her eyes, welcomed by the equally bright illumination pouring from the tall windows, indicating late morning; she must have overslept. No wonder, the rush of memories from the night before swirls through her mind, tearing away the blissful ignorance of her slumber with painful awareness.

She turns to the other side of the bed but finds it empty. Her hand reaches out to stroke the cold sheets; Hannibal must have woken up long before her. Frowning, she stretches her legs without haste; she wishes she could say it was all just an elaborate dream but the pleasurable aches in her body say otherwise. As does the aroma of sex still lingering in the air. She sits up slowly, hands pulling the sheet closer to her naked chest, eyes surveying the bedroom in search of her robe. Despite the daze, she remembers somehow unpacking it in between their passionate moments. The unfamiliar space of the hotel suite adds to the sensation of her displacement and it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts into a resemblance of normal.

Her legs wobble at her first step out of bed, as if she were a fawn learning how to walk. Regaining her balance, she moves towards the windows and opens them fully, trying to remove some traces of their night of extensive passion. She reaches for the robe, still draped neatly over the chair as if oblivious to its owner’s adventures. Wrapping it firmly around her body, she glances into the mirror on the wall, expecting to find the after-effects of the overindulgence reflected on her visage, but the face staring back at her is anything but that. She looks radiant, her skin almost glowing with its pink tinge, the mussed hair being the only proof of her intrepid evening.

Still confused by the events of yesterday and her own appearance, she goes to the bathroom, its location being another vague but certain information in her mind. She lets the cold water run through her fingers before cupping her hands and splashing it across her face. The icy liquid washes off the remnants of her slumber and she once again faces her reflection, and the facts, with clearer mind.

_It was not like her._

The one thought that appeared in her mind first, still echoes with its unending persistency. Putting her analytical brain to use, the familiar practicality she can take comfort in, she tries to work through what has occurred.

The notion of a magical herb continues to be something she refuses to acknowledge.

_A drug of sorts then._

It appears more plausible even though the good-natured restaurant owner did not strike her as someone who takes pleasure in poisoning his patrons.

_Pleasure._

Bedelia frowns, the flashes of their lovemaking pulling her mind into wooziness again. She is unable to total how many times it happened before they fell asleep, exhaustion finally taking over. She strives to stand tall, keeping her legs from shaking and awaits the anticipated effects of chemical overuse but, again, none comes. Her head throbs, dull pain pushing against her temples, but she knows it is nothing but severe dehydration. No wonder, she almost blushes at the continued recollection of her unusual antics.

Pulling the robe tighter, hands gripping the edges in search of solace, she returns to the bedroom. Her eyes survey the room anew, purposely ignoring the items of clothing scattered on the floor, and only now notice the glass of water on the side table, another considerate gesture on Hannibal’s part. She takes the glass with a grateful smile and empties it in two mouthfuls.

Another deep breath and she is finally ready to face the partner of her indiscretions. Or at least she hopes she is.

“Good morning,” the familiar voice welcomes her as soon as sets foot in the adjoining sitting room. As predicted, Hannibal appears to be fully awakened, unlike her, still battling the confusion of sleep and the circumstances. Also, unlike her, he remains half naked, proudly displaying his sun kissed torso in all its attractiveness. And some of her own handiwork; she presses her lips as her gaze falls on the line of red blotches on his clavicle.

“Good morning,” she says quietly, choosing not to meet his eyes and instead focus on the breakfast laid out on the table in front of Hannibal.

She sits down on the lavender sofa, making sure her robe remains firmly closed. Hannibal wastes no time in serving her; a cup in front of her fills with coffee, its bitter aroma promising to bring further lucidity to her mind.

“Thank you,” her voice cracks and she clears her throat, needing her tone to be as firm as her thoughts.

She brings the cup to her lips, hot liquid swirling on her tongue and braves herself for the inevitable conversation.

“I hope you slept well,” Hannibal starts, clearly wanting to ease her into the awkward subject.

“I did, thank you,” she tips her head in acknowledgement of his concern.

“I am glad,” he smiles and Bedelia holds her breath as to what will come next.

But nothing does. Surely, he must be eager to discuss the atypical proceedings of their day. They drink their coffee in silence while she ponders his unforeseen restrain. Hannibal Lecter has never missed a chance to address embracing of instincts, especially on her part.

They both reach for the plate of pastries, their fingers grazing. The touch sparks instant electricity as if the stubs of the passion ignited with a flash. Bedelia pulls back her hand, feeling another blush threatening to bloom on her skin. To her surprise, Hannibal does the same.

Her own conflict temporary forgotten, she now focuses her sharpening gaze on the man in front of her. She did not think Hannibal Lecter would find their uncurbed activities as anything but natural to him. He is a man who has never denied himself anything, after all. He carries on sipping his coffee and Bedelia’s eyes narrow; perhaps he is unnerved that something could have impaired his mind in such way.

It is definitely a concern of hers. Yet, she cannot deny the experience was _gratifying_ , to say the least. She keeps her mind in firm check, preventing it from unbinding more vivid images. Her eyes scrutinize him further, but she is unable to discern his reasonings. He is not ashamed to present the aftereffects of the passion, that much is certain. She sets her empty cup on the table.

“I was thinking we could visit Vernazza today,” Hannibal states matter-of-factly and refills her cup.

“That sounds agreeable,” she nods in agreement as her hand reaches for the cup, mindful to wait for him to withdraw his first.

The caution does not go unnoticed; something resembling a flush passes through his face. Bedelia’s gaze sharpens, finding herself in possible advantage of the situation.

“Are there any local specialities to be tried there?” she remarks, watching the colour reappear on his cheeks.

“Not that I know of,” he recovers instantly, an amused smile pulling at his lips.

She smiles as well; perhaps reducing the escapade ad absurdum is their best approach.

“I should refresh myself before we go,” she puts the cup away and stands up, making Hannibal rise as well.

He looks as if he is about to speak but, again, does not.

“What it is?” she asks this time, her curiosity still burning fiercely.

“I do not think you need any refreshing,” he speaks, almost timidly.

Bedelia’s smile widens; having him return to his charming self is a step towards normality.

The sight of the bedroom no longer elicits unease in her mind; she picks up their discarded clothes and places them on the chair. The room still radiates of sex; Bedelia wonders if they had permanently imprinted themselves into the atmosphere of the suite.

She finds her suitcase and sets to select an outfit for today, strangely reluctant. All the sudden, the attractions of the region do not appear to be engaging. She is about to retrieve a peach coloured dress from its neat spot but pauses, unmistakable presence materialising itself behind her. She turns on the spot and comes face to face with Hannibal.

“I should be ready in about an hour,” she remarks, eyes perusing his own half naked state.

But he does not respond, only steps closer and wraps his arm around her waist, bringing her closer to his chest.

“Hannibal, what-” the rest of her words are swallowed by his lips pressing against hers.

Her body gives in at once, leaning into his embrace, amicable warmth unfurling within her. It feels so _right_.

“What about Vernazza?” she asks, scuffling for breath in between their kisses.

“It can wait,” he responds simply and kisses her with more ardour, making her legs quiver afresh, “There are more exquisite specialities to be tasted here.”

“The effect of the herb has worn off, hasn’t it?” she asks with hesitation, making an unwilling admission to its existence.

Hannibal smiles, his eyes swirling good-humouredly but clear in their lustfulness.

“Yes, it has, but my feelings haven’t,” he pulls her closer still, hand moving to grasp her buttocks and press her against his hips.

Bedelia sighs at the sensation, pushing them forward, keen on the connection.

“The terrace,” she utters, her voice half whisper and half order. Her words prompts an instant growl of approval from Hannibal’s throat.

He lifts her up and obediently walks towards the glass door. Bedelia smiles against his lips as they step outside, looking forward to them enjoying the space in all its vastness.

The receptionist was right; it is a perfect place for a happy couple.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a million years but finally, a new story is here! I would have finished it sooner but the story just kept growing and growing. Thank you so much to k for the prompt! ♥♥ It is an unlikely scenario for these two and that is what I love best - putting them in unusual situations and making it work for these fabulous weirdos.
> 
> Now, facts and non-facts: I am living vicariously through these two by sending them to Cinque Terre. The hotel they are staying in is the Grand Hotel Portovenero; honestly, even with all its luxury, it is not really bedannibal worthy but I needed a public corridor setting for the extra thrill. Empty villa just wouldn't do. Trofie al pesto is indeed the speciality of the region. The small village and restaurant are made up. As is the myth, which I really enjoyed writing. Definitely inspired by Stephen Fry's Mythos, hope I did him proud. Venus' hair, like Hannibal said, is a fern, you can find it in the Boboli Gardens in Florence, so he would be very familiar with the plant.
> 
> Writing this really helped me through some tough moments and reminded me why fic is so important to me. Hope it will brighten someone else's day! Thank you for reading! Stay safe, don't eat strange plants. ♥


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